


All in a day's work

by LadyofLate



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, It's only technically clint/nat, garbage clint, the garbageman au we've all been waiting for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofLate/pseuds/LadyofLate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because no matter the infinite permutations of the universe, Clint Barton always ends up shooting things first and hiding in a dumpster later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a day's work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valeris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeris/gifts), [Euruaina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euruaina/gifts).



Clint Barton had always been a hard worker. Much as he might joke about marrying an heiress and living it up, he'd always preferred to be doing something. Even if doing something was just picking up other people's junk.

It was a normal job. He'd craved normal after leaving the circus, craved the ability to settle down and just...get one with life. So Clint had moved to New York, because it was both one place and a whole shit-ton of places, and prattled around a few jobs until he'd finally ended up taking out the trash. Literally. It was a good job, not too bad hours, unionized which was always a bonus. And important, mostly  _because_ people didn't think about it. Where would people be without sanitation services in a city of 8+ million people? It would smell a lot worse, for one.

He had the bad luck of drawing the route with the newly-minted Avengers Tower on it. Like any New Yorker, he was grateful the city hadn't been turned to rubble by fucking aliens, and Clint  _might_ have accidentally stolen some asshole's dog during the immediate aftermath. But Tony Stark was...Tony Stark. Far be it from him to judge anyone that rich and regularly soused (because, let's be honest, Clint would very much like to be able to do the same things), but he was just such a  _douche_. With his flying around and blatant vigilantism. But it looked so  _fun_.

So, Clint might have been incredibly bored with the daily grind. Most people were. Most people  _probably_ didn't spend their free time fixing up non-lethal uses for arrows. And they definitely didn't sneak hunting bows into their garbage trucks. Granted, most people didn't exactly have access (or  _want_ access) to the collection trucks, but Clint was pretty sure he knew his coworkers. And none of them could manage a game of darts, so secret archery was probably out of the question. Probably. But it couldn't hurt as long as he never  _used_ the thing under the seat below him.

It was a Thursday, and Grills had taken the day off after he'd blown out his back trying to set up a new, well, grill. So Clint had the route to himself when he saw the blond dude with the weirdly giant hands punching a hole in the side of the building.

He realized, belatedly,  that there was an alarm going off (Clint  _may_ have had the bad habit of turning his hearing aids down when he was on the job. It was against regulation, but even after so many years he'd never gotten used to NYC's love of the horn at all times of day), and there seemed to be other people many stories above crawling up the  _outside_ of the tower. Fighting. The Avengers. He'd managed to come to work just in time to catch a real-life  _battle._

And no one seemed to have noticed the blond dude punching a hole into the alley-side wall, hidden by the dumpster. The dumpster that was Clint's reason for being here. That dumpster. The blond dude had some kind of electronic-looking thing on a cart behind him, just waiting for him to push it through the hole he was creating.

The blond dude must have been pretty oblivious to life, because he hadn't even glanced up at Clint's truck yer, and the trucks weren't exactly stealthy (another reason for turning down the volume on life. The rumble got on his nerves). Clint had a great sense of being buoyed up by the universe.  _My time has come!_ He grabbed his bow and quivers and pulled an arrow labelled 'capture' in masking tape. He opened the door and slid out of the seat. Clint aimed, fired, and realized this was not one of his best ideas. It was in fact probably one of his worst.

The arrow embedded itself in the brick two feet above the blond dude's head, like Clint intended. Unlike what he'd intended, though, the amazing net capabilities that he'd spent three months trying to balance did  _not_ fall on the dude in an inescapable tangle. Instead the net just kind of landed on the guy's head and slid off.

"What the  _fuck_?" The blond dude turned. The blond dude saw Clint. The blond dude (who now looked to be an even mix of confused, angry, and trying not to laugh) started towards Clint. Clint booked it to the edge of the alley, where there were innocent civilians who didn't need to be mixed up in superhero crap.  _Other_ innocent civilians who didn't need to be mixed up in superhero crap, and were actually smart enough to not get themselves mixed up in it. Clint ran back down the alley to the other side of the truck from Weird Hands (the criminal formerly known as the blond dude).

Weird Hands, having weird hands, started punching the truck, which slid closer to Clint and also the other building with each blow. Clint ran past the front of the truck, pulling another arrow. This one was a normal arrow. "That's my  _truck!_ " He shot Weird Hands in the foot. Who became stuck, and screamed for several seconds. It was pretty operatic. Not that Clint had ever managed to go to the opera, but the dude's name could be reasonably upgraded to Wilhelm.

"What the fuck, guy! What is wrong with you?! What kind of idiot carries around a bow and arrow? HEY GUYS, A LITTLE HELP HERE? YOU MISSED ONE!" This last bit was directed upwards at the people climbing the building, two of which started rappelling downwards.

Clint, having no reasonable escape, did the only thing he could think of: he  _leaped_ into the dumpster and pulled the lid mostly shut over him.

Fifteen of the worst-smelling minutes of his life later, there was a sharp knock on the side of the metal container. A faintly accented and very amused female voice said: "They're gone. You can come out now, Robin Hood."

Clint poked his head out.  _Iron Man_ and a very pretty redheaded woman who was definitely  _Black Widow_ , so scratch that previous thought, were standing there. Black Widow was smirking.

A banana peel he hadn't known was there slid off Clint's head and fell back into the dumpster. Clint poked his head back down.

He heard laughter.


End file.
